Contributor: Arlene Antoinette

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I think he can love me,
even if it is from a distance.
I’m not the woman in his
dreams,
the woman whose lips
he misses. The woman
whose body he knows
better than his own. When
he’s weak and doubting, I
give him my shoulder
to lean on, it’s big
enough for that. I hold
him when he cries.
He whispers to me in a
voice so low I must read his
lips to understand his words:
She has my heart. Yes, the ghost
of her has taken up residence
in his heart. But I can give
him a new heart, let my heart
beat for his. With my arms
wrapped around him, I whisper
to him: I won’t let go until you
ask me to. I won’t leave unless
you tell me to go. He lets out a sigh
and places a hand on his chest
as if his heart needs holding; caressing.
But I don’t let go or recoil. She has
his heart. I’ll take what’s left.


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Arlene Antoinette writes poetry and flash fiction. Additional pieces may be found at Your Daily Poem, Literary Heist, Amethyst Review, Mojave Heart Review, Spillwords Press, CafeLit and Poetry Pacific.